Being out of work is tough. I’m sick of it. It’s hard to retain enthusiasm. It helps if I keep busy and stay on some kind of schedule.
Get up with Julie when she goes to work (5:30 am), do Tai Chi
Go back to bed
Get up by 8 am, make coffee
(Every day involves a lot of monitoring of blood sugar, taking insulin, trying to eat exactly what I need to eat.)
Wake up the bird and entertain her
Brush teeth, etc.
Job hunt (mostly on-line)
(Sometimes I have interviews, I try to schedule them in the morning)
Read if I have a book
Errands or walking- I usually have something to do that involves walking and riding the bus (e.g. banking, pharmacy, groceries) Today I’m just going for a walk- I’ll go up to the Springwater Corridor trail by my house:
Maybe I’ll go to the library- I’m out of books.
Some days I have Interactive Theater practice or events in the afternoon. Not today.
Oh- look! There’s a bunny!
Sometimes I get depressed. I get stuck and can’t hardly make myself leave the house. When this happens, I make myself do something anyway. Sometimes I play guitar.
Yesterday I found a good job and spent a lot of time working on my application.
Breathe, breathe, breathe. Heart, lungs, muscles, bones. Live. Laugh. Walk. Read. Love. Cry.
Julie gets home and is usually so tired she falls asleep. I read more in the evening, maybe watch TV, play guitar, play on the internet (like this).
Which reminds me…
If anyone asks you
how the perfect satisfaction
of all our sexual wanting
will look, lift your face
When someone mentions the gracefulness
of the nightsky, climb up on the roof
and dance and say,
If anyone wants to know what “spirit” is,
or what “God’s fragrance” means,
lean your head toward him or her.
Keep your face there close.
When someone quotes the old poetic image
about clouds gradually uncovering the moon,
slowly loosen knot by knot the strings
of your robe.
If anyone wonders how Jesus raised the dead,
don’t try to explain the miracle.
Kiss me on the lips.
Like this. Like this.
When someone asks what it means
to “die for love,” point
If someone asks how tall I am, frown
and measure with your fingers the space
between the creases on your forehead.
The soul sometimes leaves the body, the returns.
When someone doesn’t believe that,
walk back into my house.
When lovers moan,
they’re telling our story.
I am a sky where spirits live.
Stare into this deepening blue,
while the breeze says a secret.
When someone asks what there is to do,
light the candle in his hand.
How did Joseph’s scent come to Jacob?
How did Jacob’s sight return?
A little wind cleans the eyes.
When Shams comes back from Tabriz,
he’ll put just his head around the edge
of the door to surprise us
From ‘The Essential Rumi’, Translations
by Coleman Barks with John Moyne